


The World Is Empty

by The_overlord_says_yes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x18 coda, Angst, Angst and Feels, Despair, F/M, I am seriously freaking out, M/M, Requited Love, They better not leave Cas dead, post 15x18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27486364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_overlord_says_yes/pseuds/The_overlord_says_yes
Summary: Whatever words were supposed to come out, died before reaching Sam’s throat. Dean was on the floor, head against the wall, and he looked devastated.(What happens just after 15x18. Godfuck, I am so scared.)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 98





	The World Is Empty

“I’m scared.”

Sam looks over at Jack, who’s staring forward rigidly, hands clasping and unclasping.

“I know. Me too.”

It felt good, to admit it out loud at least. Ever since Eileen’s broken phone, Sam’s been at the edge of a cliff whose sudden drop would be impossible to survive. To even make out the ground below. If there was ground, that is. Now Dean’s not answering his calls, and Jack looks like he’s going to burst a dam and cry, and Sam feels like he’s taking small steps that are leading him closer to that edge.

They drive on.

Twenty minutes out from the bunker leaves them with fluttering plastic bags, abandoned, empty strollers and a steady wind whistling through the windows of hollow cars. It’s uneasy in a way nothing else in Sam’s vast fucked-up experience has been. The way everything was still standing, mundane and ordinary, the way it would be easy, too easy, to believe that nothing was missing: that was what was scaring Sam. The feeling that now that their world was void of any other conscious being, things could be so easily rearranged, easily erased. The uneasiness grew unsteadily till they reached the bunker door. The fear came in sharp bursts, as he and Jack went through more and more empty rooms, calling out for Dean and Cas.

“Dean?” Sam called out, more panicked by the second, “Dean! Where are-”

“Sammy.” A quite voice called out from behind a closed door further along the corridor.

“Sam?”

“Jack! We’re in here!” Sam pushes the door open. “Jesus Christ, Dean, where were-”

Whatever words were supposed to come out, died before reaching Sam’s throat. Dean was on the floor, head against the wall, and he looked _devastated_. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot and his hair was a mess, as if he’s been raking his hands through it. He looked up at Sam and tried a smile. It failed miserably. Then he just stared at Sam, lips pressed tightly, glassy eyes somewhat unfocused.

Sam was terrified.

“Hey Sam,” Dean starts weakly, his voice hoarse and cutting, “Sorry, I didn’t answer the phone. It’s over there somewhere.” He waved vaguely in front of him and it took a minute to catch sight of the broken pieces scattered on the floor.

As Jack joins them, Dean makes to get up hurriedly.

“Hey kid.

“Okay, alright, what’ve we got to do? How many others survived?” Dean looks at them both, as if expectant. His voice comes out cheery, and so fake that Sam has to suppress the urge to wince. He can feel Jack staring at the side of his face, unsure, but he keeps watching Dean.

“Dean,” Sam tries, as gently as he could, “What-”

“No. We’re not- just don’t. We need to- we need to go now. Figure out what’s going on and all.”

“ _Dean_. Come on-”

“It’s Castiel isn’t it?” Jack cuts him off. Sam turns sharply to Jack and Dean visibly _flinches_. Jack just deflates. “The Empty.”

It wasn’t a question, but Dean nods anyway, stiff and jerky.

“What was it that made him happy Dean?” Jack’s voice is steady and slow, but a waver at the end of the question betrays him.

Sam wants to tell Jack to _shut up, not now_ , when he realizes he’s not even part of the conversation anymore. Dean is looking straight at Jack now, but to Sam it felt like Dean had left the room long ago. Jack doesn’t say anything, patiently waiting.

“He said- ” Dean starts, and closes his mouth. The air is too still. There’s a sharp intake of breath as he tries again. And Sam wants to shake him, yell at him, ask him _what the hell is going_ -

“He said he loved me.” And fucking _hell_ , isn’t that just awful. Because Dean’s voice is just so fucking _flat_ , so devoid of emotion, and something in Sam’s chest tightens for him, “And then he got taken. And I-I didn’t get the chan-”Dean’s voice cracks and Sam has to close his eyes because it really is fucking _awful_.

Sam thinks back to all the times Cas had died, the times when he disappeared without an explanation, what would happen to Dean. How he would shrink inside; how he would drink his weight in liquor; how he would worsen with each time it happened. And the look on Dean's face now is too raw, too painful, and Sam is terrified. Because Dean may fall off his cliff. Maybe he already has.

“Anyway. It- it doesn’t matter." His voice is still flat and dead. "We should get going.” And he runs a shaking hand over his face, and he goes out, leaving Sam and Jack staring at a closed door while taking his despair with him. There’s a warding sigil drawn in blood on the back of the door. Jack runs his fingers over the dried smears and looks at Sam, a type of sadness in his eyes that comes from seeing too much too young. The same kind that he sees when he looks into the mirror. When he looks at Dean.

_Fuck._

He pulls the door open and they walk out, leaving the room empty.

While Sam is loading the Impala, Dean sitting stiff up front, behind the wheel, he notices a balled-up jacket in a corner of the boot. He takes it out. It was the one Dean had been wearing when they found him. It had a bloodied handprint over the fabric of the shoulder. Sam puts it back and shuts the boot.

He turns to Dean as soon as he gets in. “We’ll get him back.”

Dean doesn’t look at him, jaw tightening, but he nods once. “Eileen too.”

Sam swallows. Something threatens to burst through his throat. “Yeah.”

They wait in thick, heavy silence for Jack to come out the bunker.

A bright blue kite sways in the breeze, tearing itself a hole on a branch and then plummets down on the road in front of them.

They’ll get them back. They’ll get them all back. They had to.

Dry winds rustled the leaves of a thousand trees as an empty world held its breath.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the only thing I have actually completed writing, because too many feels. Too. Many. Destiel is definitely endgame and no one can convince me otherwise (hopefully).
> 
> Criticism is much appreciated :)


End file.
